Easter Weekend

And just as quickly as it started it was over...

I started my rare three days of rest by sleeping early, a premonition told me that sleep would come in useful and frankly after having moved my classes into great long streams of teaching I had been left exhausted. So 9 o'clock Thursday night I didn't set an alarm for the morning for the first time in months! Remarkably I woke up at 8:30 and was a little bit overawed by the amount of time I had to take advantage of / kill.

I made an effort to read some more of Roberto Arlt's "Los Siete Locos" and to eat a proper breakfast of cereals and tea. Later in the afternoon I went out with a good friend, who shares my love for San Telmo, to buy a new jacket. We first had coffee in La Poesia, a beautiful antiquated café on the corner of Bolivar and Chile. He managed to convince me that buying a second hand jacket wouldn't be as satisfying as buying something new for myself so we headed out to a few trendy stores around the area but nothing much was taking my fancy and in fact he found a great 3/4 length coat which he ended up buying! Fortunately after finding myself empty handed he had a brain wave and offered to hand me down a jacket he'd bought in LA and practically never used. We went back to his apartment to try it on and it fit pretty well so I gratefully accepted it.

Still in the mood to peruse some vintage clothes I walked over to the shop I had been thinking of visiting and bought a waistcoat and a tartan scarf before passing another designer store and getting a green jumper with an odd hood/collar.

Later I played some backgammon with Luis and headed out to another English friend's apartment in Palermo for some balcony beers, cigars and (obviously) backgammon before taking a short cab ride over to Sugar where we drank, were merry and discussed everything from my apartment woes, Bradley Manning and the stark feeling of change that seems to be pervading the lives of most everyone we know here.

Happily drunk and ably accompanied by my iPod and "Los Siete Locos" I took the bus home and crawled into bed to prepare myself for more realxation on the following day.

Buenos Aires Jazz 2010 Trastienda

And all that Jazz that I never listened to on my PC but always harped on about to anyone who would lend me an ear suddenly becomes clear again, ringing in my ear again, stage front and of paramount importance. Jazz 2010 Festival Internacional takes me back to the days of my heady zest for the music that sprung from the lips of Charlie Parker, that rolled out of the mouth of Herbie Hancock and that continually made me bop my head in dark, backstreet hipster Mexico.

It's a remedy, a cultural tonic to the inane 8am first class, 10am second class and intermittent social networking between appointments and push ups and eating raviolis from a packet while I try to put some order on my days, arranging my life into some semblance of regularity despite my desperate soul's determination to defy such unfamiliar practices.

So I nap, listening to the garbled, Jewish gobbledigook filtering distorted over the wall from the hostel next door, drifting in and back out of dreams about killing taxi drivers and then wake and barely conscious stuff sandwiches down my throat to God only knows where I don't care and it's a bus and the filth and then free! to race some more, riding the regular routes of the BA transit system, pushing on, always carrying my weary bones forward towards the Trastienda where I saunter in like I own the joint although it's free.

The tonic morphs into a bottle of El Portillo 2009 Malbec and despite my back ache on bad chairs I read articles on international finance deals between Latin America and Iran before the music breaks out again, catching me supping from the wine glass and I gawp and smile and tap'a rap my fingers on the table grinning at the nervous porteño next to me. And it rolls and it runs and I stare and simultaneously close my eyes and lean very carefully on my elbow connected loosely to jerking dancing fingers...

Called away to dine and I'm stealing away through the city streets, improvising a route up to San Martín plaza, to and fro in the highs and the lows of the now empty streets bar the young kids kicking a ball around the Plaza de Mayo. Humming along as I slip out of the weekend I'm now stuck in the moment and thrusting bills at cab men to go faster to go back to the Jazz. Where am I from? France my good man now step on it! And out and back in and there're friends and good times around the table and they saved my half bottle for me and we murmur excitedly, enthusiastic and we have to make silly arguments when angry Argentines turn and growl but they don't understand and all's well and the music recommences and nothing could be iller than the combined talents of a multitude of musicos internacionales strutting and frowning and earnestly sharing such exertions as they can, revelling in the jam freedom, darned piano guitarist grimaces whilst playing rolling melodies, G plays on almighty Jazz fusion rock and w love it until it gets even better later, picked up by double bass licks and lines and it's all a rhyme and a group riddle. We nod and tap and jerk happily soaking up the rhythms through ears and fingers and hairs on our arms and flashing looks to costados to see if everyone can gozar lo mismo, if those cats have got the groove and we're sharing the universal joy of it all or rather got caught in an intense concentration like willing the band on telepathically!

And after a long day it's enough, it's heavenly and a part of me feels that this is why I came to a city stuck in the early twentieth century and why I frequented those Mexican bars and this is what I want to see and hear and enjoy as much as anything you could push on me right now.

It's jazz and everyone leaves happily, although my feet hurt my heart floats home on a grinning bassline before a slow fade out and gone...

"But then there's a moment like tonight, a profound and transcendent experience, the feeling as if a door has opened, and it's all because of that instrument, that incredible, magical instrument."

The Death of a President

Bold, divisive but never reserved Néstor Kirchner (1950 – 2010), represented to many the archetypal militant politician. His legacy of determined street-politicking and defense of downtrodden peoples brought hope and vigor to many sectors of a society who had previously suffered terrible repression yet his aggressive, unflinching partisanship has indelibly scarred the national political arena for many years to come.

For almost three days the streets surrounding the Plaza de Mayo, the public square in front of the Presidential Casa Rosada, have been thronging with people paying their respects to this ex-president of Argentina (2002 – 2007). His sudden death shocked the country and inspired a massive outpouring of support for the current president and his widow Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner with tens of thousands of Argentines visiting the Salon de los Patriotas de Latinoamerica to salute the coffin and chant political slogans and passionate cries of loyalty as she sat choking back the tears alongside her children and the solidarity of the presidents of Latin America. Along the route of his funeral cortege to the airport the passage was almost completely choked with raucous supporters smothering the hearse, singing, tossing flags and flowers and reaching out to touch the passing vehicle.

There can be no doubt watching these scenes that Néstor was a beloved figure but as we find so often in Argentina his was a career of dualities and extremes. He nobly ordered the police to stand down from confrontation with protestors and thereon gifted the streets to the diverse groups of social and political activists, in stark contrast to contemporary European politicians who prefer things to be resolved exclusively in the Parliament. However the extent to which this dynasty bribed demonstrators and trade unionists to attend their rallies has always been a point of much suspicion and the vitriolic attacks on rival or dissenting politicians fermented a culture of bitter disputes and unseemly bickering.

Kirchner literally gave his own life for his ideological vision for the country. Despite a history of coronary complications in recent years he never drew back from his grueling commitments and relentlessly championed the implementation of a populist Peronist agenda at home as President, Senator and Leader of the Justice Party, simultaneously working towards the Bolivarian dream of a more united continent as president of the UNASUR.

Much will be asked of the current president, now left to continue the fight without the presence of her mentor and confidant, the real power behind the throne as many believed him to be. Soon our attentions will turn to the future and the coming year’s elections and the opposition will not wait long to capitalize on this weakening of the current regime. Serious electioneering amongst the presidential front-runners must begin soon and the recent show of public support may be utilized by rising union leaders to garner support.

This tragic event heralds a new, exciting dawn in Argentine politics. Suddenly stripped of this massively important figure how the country quarrels over dividing the political spoils will be crucial to the future of this ever fractious nation.

Rehearsals

I spend so mch of my life running a film reel of future situations in my head and therefore  generate a very realistic impression of what will happen and what we will say in said encounters, but so often despite all of my convincingly constructed confidence in my own premonitions I am left stunned and surprised by what actually occurs. Preconceptions can delude me and I must learn - as Gabriel seeks to teach me - that prejudging things before they happen leaves me open to making a damned fool of myself. Better to be open to any possible eventuality and rest happily pleased by successive events, sitting, aware of the world and the beautiful people who dispel the myths I'd created in my head... Life is what we make it but I would challenge the metaphysicists and rather live it as we evolve around each other, revolve through our thoughts and spin into wonderful shocks together and from a distance.

Left feeling recharged as a reloaded gun following the empty barreled impotence I step out into the streets envigorated and anticipating future events. I'll have a pancho and buy "In Cold Blood" and watch a Mapuche protest march. But I know of what I'll be thinking, imagining.

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

La Búsqueda...

Reseteamos la cuenta regresiva a cero nuevamente. Un nuevo comienzo arranca al aterrizar en el Aeroparque Jorge Newberry y otra fresca aventura poreña abre delante mio.

Provisionalmente estoy de vuelta para ayudarle a Benito con la edición de la película pero despúes de nuestra primera reunion dudo de lo cuanto me va a bancar y lucho contra mi instinto que comienza a creer que nada va a salir de esta avenida. Mientras sigo empujandole a darme la milagrosa apertura al cinema que tanto quiero hoy día hay que mantenerme racional y considerar otras oportunidades. Que suerte que Matt tiene contactos afuera de ese grupo y ya tengo una pista para laburar con David Garret, un entrepreneur Yankee que vive en BA. Es probable que tome muchos tazos de café acá...

Me levanto hoy, refrescado, con ganas, y salgo a la calle a buscar habitaciones. Necesitaré donde vivir si de verdad me voy a instalar en esta puta ciudad hermosa.

Como siempre he creido me siento muy cercano al ave fenix viviendo así, volviendo a nacer en formas distintas y (lamentablemente) quemando los rastros del pasado para subir de las llamas hacía arriba. Este estilo de vida me invigora pero la genética de mi madre asegura que no son pocas las mariposas atormentando mi estomago mientras choco de un encuentro a otro. Es un tiempo de incertidumbre pero tambien de esperanza. Vuelvo a los viejos habitos en tales situaciones: trato a no obsesionarme con el pasado, a tener un régimen de ejercicio que me ayuda a funcionar, a pensar positivamente, y a ser simple, más zen, en mi vida cotidiana.

Esperamos los resultados con un creciente ansiedad...

The more things change, the more they remain... insane.

Parisian Daydreams

Looking out languidly over the rooftops of Montmartre, the coffee cooling at my side, bags packed and ready to return via Easyjet flight I'm taking, all is tranquil after nights of folie.

Reflecting on this year and all of the emotional and physical upheavals, of journeys undertaken and avenues pursued I arrive at the point of another metamorphosis and the eager anticipation of great things to come. No longer a citizen it is my duty to realise the dreams of so many people, to not play at producing but really jump into the business and make a success of yet another new life.




I spend time re-reading old conversations, notes scribbled down in journals and the reflections bring back such a sea of emotions that it's often hard to read, but I process it as best I can and continue down the streets where every step has been taken side by side, laughing together, hand in hand. Familiar roads and the unrivalled ambience of glorious frontages, I rode a velib pedalling manically on this tarmac.

I've intrigued people, much to Marcus Aurelius' contempt, with tales of Peru and cinema and bathed in the glow of passionate youths discussing art and beauty on rooftop terrasses while grumbling neighbours quarrel against loud revellers. Such enthusiasm and so much inspiration is sown, to grow strong and bold - the self-made-man born into the arms of his brothers.

Scripts and stories penned and waiting for drafting to begin, new books in old languages started in front of Notre Dame, my Bonsai have been patient for 7 years and they maximise my harmony, sharing their aura.


For those who have had confidence in me take heart, my metamorphosis will reveal a beautiful butterfly. Nothing is forgotten. Always parting but so glad to see us when we return that my heart is ever warmed.

To find fulfillment...don't exist with life - embrace it.

Alcune parole...

Per Dante Alighieri:

Queste parole si leggon nel viso

d'un'angioletta che ci e apparita:

e io che per veder lei mirai fiso,

ne sono a rischio di perder la vita;

pero ch'io ricevetti tal ferita

da un ch'io vidi dentro a li occhi sui,

ch'i' vo piangendo, e non m'achetai pui...

I am living in a trap of my own creation, 

unable to express anything due to my self-tied chains.

I am a man in the depths of obsession

torturing myself every minute of every day. 

Eyes open or closed it makes no difference,

Angel or daemon I can not discern

but you are an ever present resident in my head.

Per Giacomino Pugliese:

La dolze ciera piagente

e li amorosi semblanti

lo cor m'allegra e la mente

quando mi pare davanti,

si volentieri la vio

quella cui eo amai;

la bocca ch'eo basciai

ancor l'astetto e disio!

L'aulente bocca e le menne

de lo petto ciercai,

fra le mie braza la tenne;

basciando mi dimandai:

"Messer, se venite a gire,

non facciate adimoranza,

che non esti bonna usanza

lassar l'amore e partire."

Allotta ch'eo mi partivi 

e dissi: "A Deo v'accomando"

la bella guardo 'nver mivi,

sospirava lagrimiando;

tant'erano li sospiri

ch'a pena mi rispondia:

e la dolze donna mia

non mi lassava partiri.

Eo non fuivi si lontano

che lo meo amor v'ubriasse,

ne non credo che Tristano

Isaotta tanto amasse.

Quando vio venir l'aulente,

infra le donne apariri,

lo cor mi trae di martiri

e ralegrami la mente.